


Comrades

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Comrades in Arms, F/M, hawkgret, houlihawk, how it should've gone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: How Comrades in Arms should've gone.





	Comrades

Margaret wakes up with more aches than she cares to acknowledge, leaning against Hawkeye. It takes a second but it comes back - the two of them, shouting uselessly at falling shrapnel, then turning to each other. What else was there to do, really? 

In the calm light, he looks as rumpled and scraggly as ever. Her eyes automatically go to his leg. She should check that dressing. Make sure it's still tight and as clean as can be here.

Hawkeye stirs and slowly opens his eyes. Margaret's crouched by his leg, gingerly poking around the edges of the bandage.

"Looks pretty good," she says without looking up. He's relieved to hear it's her Major Houlihan voice, low, calm and confident. He can't handle more shrieking. "It's a good thing I kept it tight. Don't want any dust getting in there. Try bending it?"

He does as he's told, wincing as his knee reluctantly flexes, sending a stabbing pain up his thigh. "It stiffened up something awful last night."

Margaret digs in with the pads of her thumbs, massaging his calf and ankle, trying to work some blood into the rest of him. "Last night..." she mutters.

"Hey." His voice is serious, for once. She looks up, still working him over. His eyes are soft, kind. Not a mischevious spark to be found. "I don't regret anything about last night. Do you?"

"What's there to regret?" she answers drily. "We thought we were going to die. It was a better way to go out than shouting."

He grins. "So much better."

She sits back on her heels and looks over his leg again. "Let's see you try to stand on that."

Hawkeye lurches and staggers to his feet, but the leg gives out almost as soon as he gets up. Margaret catches him, throws his arm around her shoulder. They figure out how to walk, despite being an uncoordinated, hunched, and hobbling three-legged creature. 

He can't resist giving her a squeeze, and she glares at him. "Save it for my deathbed, Pierce."

"I wouldn't have you any other way. Now, do you think between the two of us, we can find a cab this far north of 42nd street?"  
Margaret rolls her eyes. "Don't get it into your head that I'm just going to fall into bed with you every time we get shelled."

"Don't worry. I know we're strictly an enemy-territory-brink-of-death romance of convenience."

She almost chuckles - he can hear the echo of it in her voice. "You're impossible."

"Only when you're incorrigible."

"Hawkeye?"  
"Thank you, too, Margaret."


End file.
